Make It Harder To Be Near You
by poetzproblem
Summary: Rachel has heard a lot about Quinn's sister over the years—none of it particularly good. Faberry Week Day 2: Meeting Frannie. Twenty-first in the Don't Blink series, set between The Only Place I Wanna Be and A Feline Casanova.


**Author's Note:** Written for Faberry Week, Day 2 - _Meeting Frannie_. Number 21 in the _Don't Blink_ series.

Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta and for giving us these wonderful Faberry Weeks.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Glee_ or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

* * *

**Make It Harder To Be Near You**

* * *

_Our mama's nest is empty, all the babies gone and grown.  
And you're talking. I can hear me. You should hear you.  
I look into a younger face that used to be my own.  
Years apart, they make it harder to be near you._

_~Little Sister, Concrete Blonde_

* * *

Rachel doesn't know if this is a good idea. She hasn't been back to Lima in years. Her dads have been on a holiday rotation of cruises, tropical getaways, and visits to New York ever since Rachel's first year at college. In fact, the last Very Merry Berry Christmukkah Celebration Extravaganza had combined a little bit of all three with a romantic cruise for two that had departed from New York City and sailed to the Bahamas. Her dads had made it a point to arrive in the city early enough to spend three full days with Rachel before they'd set sail, though they'd undoubtedly been just as eager to spend more time with Quinn in order to make certain that she really does deserve their baby girl. They're pretty convinced of it now. They'd even made a special trip to the city to help Rachel officially move in with Quinn with far more enthusiasm than Rachel had expected. Hiram and Leroy Berry fully support their relationship.

The same can't be said of Judy Fabray, but despite that fact, or perhaps because of it, Rachel is on her way back to her hometown for Mother's Day weekend (of all things!) with her beautiful girlfriend, who is currently sitting stiffly in her seat with her eyes closed and one hand squeezing Rachel's so tightly that she's nearly lost all feeling in it. It's not that Quinn is afraid of flying, per se, but the plane really is unexpectedly small, and Quinn's claustrophobia is very real.

Quinn had made sure to book their seats near the exit, and she's sitting on the aisle, but she'd refused to take any medication to help her relax. She doesn't want to be fuzzy and medicated for the drive from Columbus to Lima. Rachel had offered to drive, of course, knowing that cars aren't Quinn's favorite mode of transportation either, but Quinn is actually more comfortable being in control of the wheel than she is being a passenger. And for some reason, Quinn seems to think that Rachel's driving habits are too similar to the New York City taxi drivers that she abhors. She's obviously exaggerating. Rachel is a perfectly adequate driver, even if she is a little out of practice thanks to living in the city.

The armrest between their seats is pushed up, allowing Rachel to lean more comfortably into Quinn's side. "I hope you're not expecting me to use my hand for anything meaningful this weekend," she whispers close to Quinn's ear, "because I think you've cut off my blood supply."

Quinn's eyes stay closed, but the corner of her mouth twitches a little. "Good thing you have two of them then," she points out, but her grip does slacken noticeably.

"It's still not too late to get off the plane," Rachel suggests helpfully. They're still at the gate with the cabin door open, and Rachel isn't afraid to cause a scene and demand to be let off if it means saving Quinn two and a half hours of needless anxiety—not to mention the weekend of family anxiety that will be sure to follow.

"We're going," Quinn insists, finally opening her eyes and turning her head to gaze at Rachel. "My mother and your fathers are all expecting us, and you could use some time away from the city to stop brooding."

"I'm not brooding," she huffs, her frown deepening when Quinn's expression turns doubtful. "I'm merely taking a perfectly reasonable amount of time to mourn for the premature death of my first major show."

Although some might argue that a year on Broadway is a good run, Rachel isn't thrilled to be unemployed, especially when the current casting calls for sopranos with her range are few and far between. There are a couple of revivals being talked about that could potentially open by the end of the year, and some whispers about a promising original show that might be going into workshop soon, but Rachel has been to three auditions in the last month, and she hasn't gotten a single callback. Even if she manages to rise above all the talented competition around her to win a significant role in the very near future, she probably won't be back on a stage and earning a steady income for quite sometime. She really doesn't want to go back to swaying in the background in some ensemble or resort to being a singing waitress like she had for awhile back in college, but she can't rely on Quinn to support the both of them indefinitely.

"You'll get something else soon enough," Quinn assures her with a soft smile. "In the meantime, you should try to enjoy the much needed rest."

Rachel has been _resting_ for a month, and while there have certainly been a few benefits in having her schedule completely clear—most of them directly involving Quinn—she's beginning to go a little stir crazy. "I'm not good at being idle, Quinn. I need something to focus all of my energy on."

"You mean like obsessively reorganizing every shelf, drawer, and closet in the apartment and overstocking our refrigerator with health food?" Quinn asks with a faint smile still clinging to her lips.

"I haven't heard you complaining that I've kept the apartment spotless for the last month." Rachel has been so bored during the long afternoons waiting for Quinn to get home from work that she's even resorted to wiping down the shower and washing the used hand-towels every other day—and she _hates_ cleaning the bathroom.

"It is nice to have you around more often," Quinn admits, readjusting her grip on Rachel's hand to something a little less panic stricken and a little more loving. "If only you could cook, you'd be the perfect girlfriend," she teases.

Rachel musters up her best glare in response to the playful dig at her limited culinary expertise. "Maybe I'll start experimenting with some recipes," she muses. It could certainly give her something more challenging than dusting to focus on between auditions. She can invest in a vegan cookbook and start watching the Food Network, and maybe she'll even be able to finally wean Quinn away from consuming her beloved animal products once and for all. Quinn's face doesn't exactly reflect the same level of enthusiasm that Rachel is currently feeling for her new potential project. "What is that look?" she asks suspiciously.

"What look?" Quinn counters, her expression immediately going blank—Rachel still can't figure out how she can do that so effortlessly.

"You gave me a look, Quinn," she accuses with a huff. "Let me remind you that I am not completely incompetent in the kitchen. Anymore," she tags on grudgingly.

Quinn flashes a grin. "Well, at least you only seem to burn things when you get overly ambitious and attempt to multitask."

Rachel slumps back in her seat with a pout. "That hardly ever happens." Once a week tops—maybe twice.

"It's okay. Your salad making skills are above reproach," Quinn assures her, tugging their joined hands further into her lap so that she can hold Rachel's with both of hers. She traces the skin of Rachel's wrist with her thumb in a soothing motion, but Rachel kind of suspects that the action is meant to comfort Quinn more than her, since the cabin doors have been closed, and the plane is backing away from the gate. Rachel can see the signs of Quinn's discomfort in the slight tightness of her smile and the eyes that refuse to look anywhere else but at Rachel.

"Just wait," Rachel warns lightly. "One of these days, I'm going to amaze you with a perfect, home cooked meal."

To her credit, Quinn doesn't laugh, instead indulging Rachel with an amused, "I look forward to it."

"Maybe I'll get Judy to teach me," Rachel suggests. It might even give her a much needed chance to bond with Quinn's mother and hopefully get a little closer to being on her good side. She must have good side somewhere—everyone does.

It would be impossible for Rachel to miss the pensive expression that overtakes Quinn's face, or the way she catches the corner of her lower lip between her teeth to worry it for several seconds. "Look, Rach, I know going back to Lima was my idea, but…just don't expect too much from my mother, okay," she warns carefully, making Rachel frown.

"I thought she invited us to stay with her?" Rachel asks in confusion. They aren't actually doing that, of course—they're staying with Rachel's dads because Quinn wants to share a room with her girlfriend and not have Rachel be relegated to the guest room down the hall. Her mother really doesn't like to acknowledge the intimate nature of their relationship.

"I think she just wants me to visit her, and she knows I won't come without you," Quinn reluctantly admits.

Rachel pushes down the sting of rejection that she feels, knowing it has little to do with her as a person and everything to do with her not being the person—the _gender_, anyway—that Judy had imagined for her daughter. Still, hearing Quinn voice what Rachel has suspected since this trip was first mentioned only increases her feeling that it's a mistake. "You know, you're not actually making me feel better about going home to meet your mother."

Quinn's eyebrow inches up. "You've already met my mother, Rachel."

"Technically, yes," Rachel concedes, "but as your friend first, and then as _that girl_ you were crazy to start dating because she was certain that I'd only end up breaking your heart." Judy had unsurprisingly _not_ approved of the change in Rachel's status, and they'd had a very awkward weekend during that reintroduction—especially when Quinn hadn't been expecting her mother's impromptu visit. "Now I'm your out-of-work, live-in, lesbian lover who's taking all of your hard earned money and giving nothing back to you in return."

Quinn shakes her head as she tries and fails to bite back her laughter. "You're being ridiculously overdramatic. For one thing, my mother doesn't think the worst of you," she promises with an impressively straight face. "And it wouldn't matter if she did because you've given me nothing but happiness in the last year." She lifts their joined hands, pressing a quick kiss to Rachel's knuckles before she grins. "I'll willingly be your sugar mama for as long as you want." Rachel smiles at that, feeling the warmth in her belly bubble up to heat her cheeks. "But I won't have to," Quinn vows, serious once again. "You'll get another role soon enough, and you'll be amazing like you always are."

"But you'll still love me if I'm forced to wait tables and live off tips?"

Quinn's eyes narrow and she tilts her head thoughtfully. "What kind of tips are we talking about?"

"Quinn!" Rachel chastises with a sharp squeeze to Quinn's hand before she lets go of it with a pout. "I'm being serious."

"Rachel, sweetie," Quinn chastises right back, "I don't care what you do for a living, as long as you come home to me." Then her eyebrows furrow and her lips tilt down in a thoughtful frown. "Okay, well, obviously there are a few careers that I'd prefer you to avoid," she clarifies, "like stripping or becoming a porn star."

"I would never," Rachel denies with an affronted gasp—until a few rather alluring images involving herself and Quinn take root in her mind. "Well, publicly," she allows with a wicked smirk, giggling when Quinn's eyes widen and her cheeks stain crimson.

"Uh, o-okay," Quinn stutters before clearing her throat and taking a breath. "We can…um…discuss…_that_…some other time."

Rachel loves getting her flustered, and she can't resist leaning in for a soft kiss. "Thank you for being the best cheerleader ever," she murmurs against Quinn's lips, feeling them curve into a smile as they brush over hers again.

"Rah rah," Quinn replies huskily. "And thank you."

"For what?" Rachel asks in confusion.

"Distracting me," Quinn says, gesturing to the crowded plane around them, "from this. Do you think you can manage to keep doing it for the next few hours?"

"I think I can manage," Rachel ventures, smiling slyly. "If you'd like, we could even attempt to join the mile high club."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's cute that you think I'd even consider being crammed into that tiny bathroom for any reason."

"There are other ways to join the club, Quinn," Rachel points out, surreptitiously trailing her fingers along the inside of Quinn's thigh and causing her to inhale sharply. "How quiet can you be?"

Quinn grits her teeth and gently detours Rachel's hand back to safer places. "We're _not_ doing that _here_, Rachel."

"It would certainly help relax you."

"No, it really wouldn't," Quinn insists, hazarding a glance around them as if to make certain that no one knows what they've been talking about.

Rachel chuckles, rubbing Quinn's leg supportively. "I'm only teasing, baby. This isn't exactly on my list of fantasy locations."

Quinn catches her hand again, leaning back in her seat as the plane makes its final approach to the end of the runway and prepares to take off. "Ask me again when we get to your dads' house," she orders hurriedly.

"Ask you what?"

"How quiet I can be," Quinn answers, gazing at her again with pink cheeks. "I've had this fantasy about being with you in your childhood bedroom for years."

"You have?" Rachel breathes out. She doesn't remember Quinn ever mentioning that one.

"Mmmhmm."

Rachel grins. "You won't have to be quiet. The walls are soundproof, you know."

Quinn's eyes widen again. "That's a real thing?" she asks in surprise. "I thought that was just a rumor that Puck started sophomore year."

Rachel's grin slips. "Noah's questionable reasoning for sharing that information aside; we had some issues with our neighbors when I was in middle school. They just didn't appreciate my blossoming talent or my need to perfect it through daily practice."

Quinn chuckles, smiling at Rachel indulgently. "Their loss."

It certainly was, but, "Your gain, obviously," Rachel tells her, already imagining all manner of fun scenarios to test out the workmanship of that soundproofing. Maybe this trip back to Lima isn't such a terrible idea after all.

_xx_

The drive from Columbus to Lima takes a full two hours between the Saturday traffic, Quinn's refusal to drive more than five miles per hour above the posted speed limits, and the need for an unexpected pit stop thanks to the extra-large, organic tea that Rachel had treated herself to at the airport while she'd been waiting for Quinn to sign the paperwork for the rental car. It's nothing fancy—a blue Nissan Altima—and while they'd needed to leave the windows open for the first part of the trip to get rid of the scent of whatever product the company had used to make the car smell (quote-unquote) _fresh_, it had gotten them the ninety-plus miles from the airport to the Berry driveway without incident.

Quinn barely gets the car into park before Rachel has her door open, intent on wrangling both of their bags from the trunk and up to her bedroom so that Quinn won't have to fuss with them. It's already been a long day, and she can tell her girlfriend is tired from the flight and the drive. Rachel just wants them both to be able to have a nice rest, maybe even take a nap, before they have to freshen up and head out for their dinner plans with Judy.

Her dads are out of the house and jogging over to the car with wide smiles as soon as Rachel gets the trunk open. "Welcome home, my darling girls," Leroy bellows, intercepting Quinn—who happens to be the first in his path—and pulling her into a bear hug. "Oh, how we've missed you so."

"Hi, Leroy," Quinn laughingly says into his shoulder. "It's good to see you."

Hiram chuckles at his husband's exuberance, pushing up his glasses with his index finger as he comes to a stop beside Rachel. "Your dad has been dancing around the front window ever since we got your text," he explains, bending down to place a kiss on her forehead as he wraps her in his arms.

Rachel melts into his embrace. "Hi, Daddy."

Leroy releases Quinn and nudges Hiram out of the way to get his turn with their daughter. "Come here, baby girl," he urges, and Rachel throws her arms around him, inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave while she watches her daddy loop an arm over Quinn's shoulder and give her a friendly squeeze. In this moment, thrust back into the bosom of her family—metaphorically speaking—her career woes don't seem nearly as overwhelming.

"It's good to be home," she sighs.

Leroy steps back, keeping his hands lightly cupped around her biceps as he gives her a critical once over. "You look thinner. Have you been eating enough?" He glances over at Quinn with a slight frown. "Are you feeding my baby girl, Quinn?"

"Dad," Rachel groans.

Quinn's eyes widen slightly at the unexpected interrogation, and Hiram chuckles, patting her shoulder. "Ignore him. He'll be in mother hen mode for the next hour at least. He tones it down when we visit you, but when he's in his own nest, all bets are off."

"It's a father's prerogative to fuss over his only daughter," Leroy counters with a huff before smiling down at Rachel and stroking his fingers lovingly through her hair. "How was your trip in? You know, I told your daddy we should just pick you up at the airport, but he insisted you'd be perfectly fine driving yourselves."

Hiram shakes his head, letting go of Quinn. "And I was obviously right, because here they are, with nary a scratch upon them." He ignores his husband sticking his tongue out at him and reaches into the trunk. "Why don't you girls go inside and relax? Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen. Your dad and I will take your bags up to your room, and then we can catch up on all the latest gossip."

Rachel sidesteps her dad, who's relieving Hiram of one of the two overstuffed canvas traveling bags, and reaches for Quinn's hand. "Thanks, Daddy."

"And thank you again for letting me stay with you," Quinn adds with a grateful smile.

Leroy rolls his eyes. "Please, honey, you're family. You're welcome here anytime."

"As long as you call first," Hiram reminds them as he starts walking back to the house, "and assuming we don't decide to retire to Florida in the next year."

"Or Connecticut," Leroy adds, patting Rachel's cheek. "Florida is so terribly cliché, and it will be so nice to be just a short drive away from our baby girl and her beautiful girlfriend." He shoulders Quinn's bag with ease and follows his husband into the house.

Rachel stares after her dads in mild confusion. "Wait. Retiring?" she questions, chasing after them and pulling Quinn along with her. "Since when are you retiring?"

_xx_

The visit with Rachel's dads is only marginally relaxing. They really are planning to officially retire within the next year or two, and moving to Connecticut really is a strong possibility. Quinn, bless her little eager-to-impress heart, is so very helpful in selling the beauty of New Haven and its surrounding towns to the point where Hiram is making little notes to check out real estate in places like Cheshire, Prospect, and Woodbridge. Rachel isn't entirely certain that Quinn fully comprehends the reality of having her dads living only a hundred miles away. She absolutely adores them, and she'd love to have them somewhere closer than Lima—in theory—but she also doesn't want them dropping by their apartment every other weekend.

After chatting for a while about the current events in their respective lives, Rachel is finally able to get Quinn upstairs for a nap—she's far too tired for that to be a euphemism for anything else. She's currently spread eagle in the middle of her bed, attempting to force her body to unwind. It feels a little like she's still in motion, even though the only thing currently refusing to be still is her mind—and Quinn.

Rachel turns her head on the mattress to watch her girlfriend slowly pace around the room, absently running long, elegant fingers along the remaining books on her shelf and the few framed photographs that Rachel had never gotten around to taking to New York. There's a soft smile painted on Quinn's lips as she absorbs even the most minuscule details of the sanctuary in which Rachel had spent her formative years, and Rachel doesn't entirely understand the fascination. It's not as if this is the very first time that Quinn has been in her childhood bedroom, although admittedly, the last time (and the only time, for that matter) had been way back in their junior year of high school. Come to think of it, Quinn had spent an odd minute dazedly gazing around the room on that day, too. At the time, Rachel had self-consciously imagined herself being judged by the prettiest girl she'd ever met, but now that she knows that her bedroom is apparently featured in one of Quinn's sexual fantasies, she wonders exactly what was going on inside Quinn's head back then.

She pretty much has her answer when Quinn wanders over to her half-open closet and murmurs an enthralled, "Oh, my," at the handful of old plaid skirts and sweaters still hanging there like lost remnants of an almost forgotten era. Rachel had told her dads to pack them up and give them to Goodwill when she'd left for NYADA, but they never had, and the few times that Rachel has been home since then have seen her being too lazy to finally get rid of them. Seeing Quinn reverently touch a black and yellow plaid skirt with that same dazed expression from junior year has Rachel suddenly feeling wickedly grateful that she hasn't been more proactive in cleaning out the last of her childhood belongings. Maybe she needs to pack up a few of those old outfits to take back home with them.

"Did that skirt feature into one of your fantasies?" she can't resist asking.

Quinn drops her hand guiltily. "I may have one or two fond memories of them," she admits with a faint blush.

"I feel the same way about your Cheerio uniform," Rachel confesses as she pats the mattress beside her invitingly.

A smirk settles on Quinn's face as she pads over and crawls onto the bed, curling effortlessly into Rachel's body and slowly sliding a leg along her thigh. "You know, I'm pretty sure my mom still has it packed away somewhere in the house," she purrs, dancing her fingertips across Rachel's belly and inching up her shirt.

Rachel's breath hitches. "We are so getting that from her tonight," she decides, shifting her body enough to catch her girlfriend's smiling lips. Quinn immediately deepens the kiss, slipping her hand higher beneath Rachel's shirt, and Rachel whimpers. Suddenly, she's not feeling very tired at all. "How much time do we have?" she asks between kisses.

"Enough," Quinn promises, changing the direction of her hand until it's heading steadily south. Rachel is so glad she remembered to lock the door.

_xx_

They arrive at the Fabray house about an hour before their dinner reservations at Judy's favorite restaurant, Old City Prime Steakhouse. Rachel isn't thrilled about the menu, but at least it has a few vegetarian pasta options that are vegan friendly as well, so she's going to grin and bear it. If Rachel keeps scoring enough good girlfriend points, Judy might even get over the_ girl _part of that title someday and embrace her as Quinn's chosen partner.

Quinn parks in the driveway in front of the garage and shuts off the engine, pulling down the visor to check her reflection in the mirror—a habit she's had for as long as Rachel has known her. Rachel takes the opportunity to do the same, rechecking the exposed skin of her neck and collar to verify (again) that Quinn didn't leave any visible marks from their heated quickie in her bedroom. She should probably be slightly embarrassed about just how quick it was, but she's blaming her lack of stamina on a potent mix of exhaustion and having Quinn Fabray take her in the room she grew up in. On the plus side, the soundproofing passed the test with flying colors—or Rachel's dads just had too much decorum to shatter their illusions.

"You look perfect," Quinn assures her. The only hickeys that she'd left on Rachel's body are in places that Judy Fabray will never see.

Mostly assuaged, Rachel nods and puts on her show face. "Let's do this."

Judy opens the door to them as soon as they're in front of it with a genuinely happy smile. "Quinnie, honey," she trills, pulling her daughter into a somewhat awkward hug.

"Hi, Mom."

"Oh, it's so good to see you," Judy breathes out, patting Quinn's shoulder before she lets go and looks her over with a critical eye. "Did you cut your hair again?" she asks, reaching up to finger a lock with a small frown.

Quinn sighs and leans away from her touch, muttering, "I had it trimmed," as she sidesteps her mother on her way inside.

"I really wish you'd let it grow out more."

"I like it this length," Quinn defends.

"Of course you do, dear," Judy replies dismissively, and then turns to offer a stiff, "Hello, Rachel. Thank you for coming."

Her smile is just tight enough around the edges to be noticeable to anyone who's actually looking—and Rachel definitely is. "Hello, Judy," she greets politely. She's been told to address Quinn's mother by her given name, but she highly suspects that Quinn had forced the woman's hand after Rachel had spent an entire afternoon formally calling her Mrs. Fabray. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Yes, well," Judy stammers uncomfortably, glancing at her daughter, "I'm happy to have Quinn back home for a few days. She never seems to have time to visit anymore."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You could always come to New York again. Just let me know in advance," she warns with a slight blush.

Judy's face takes on a similar hue, and her eyes dart to Rachel. "I wouldn't make _that _mistake a second time."

"Are you ready to go?" Quinn asks, swiftly changing the subject. "Our reservations are for six-thirty."

"Oh, actually, I was thinking perhaps we could just go to Ruby Tuesdays instead," Judy suggests pensively, fidgeting with her sensible blazer—Quinn must have picked up her fondness for them from her mother.

"You're joking," Quinn scoffs with an arched eyebrow. "You want to go _there_ instead of to your favorite restaurant."

"I just think they have a better selection of entrees for all of us and a wonderful salad bar for Rachel."

"Oh, I'll be fine anywhere," Rachel insists with raised hands, not wanting to be dragged into the middle of their disagreement. She's not afraid to ask the wait staff at any restaurant for meals to be prepared vegan. She even cheats a little now and then with butter and cheese.

Quinn huffs and crosses her arms, staring down her mother. "So you expect me to…"

Her words are cut off by the excited, "Aunt Luce," shouted from the little body that's racing into the room.

Rachel watches her girlfriend's hazel eyes widen as her nephew crashes into her legs and wraps his arms around them, grinning up at her in delight. "Hey…T.J.," Quinn manages, gracefully recovering from her shock to smile warmly down at the child as she brushes her palm over his curly, blond hair. The unmistakable softness in her eyes as she looks at the boy tugs at Rachel's heart in the very same way it does every time she watches Quinn with Beth. "I didn't expect to see you here, buddy," Quinn says carefully.

"We're visiting Gram'ma."

"You are?" The smile on Quinn's face when she lifts her head to look at her mother instantly reminds Rachel of the ones that she used to wear in high school when she was pretending everything was sunshine and roses while secretly plotting to cut off her competition at the knees. "Mom?" she questions with faux sweetness.

Judy looks a little ashamed when she admits, "They surprised me this morning, Quinnie."

"They?" Quinn grits out.

"Hello, Lucy."

Rachel has heard a lot about Quinn's sister over the years—none of it particularly good. Francine Fabray-McGregor, otherwise known as Frannie, is six years older than Quinn and absolutely gorgeous, with silky blonde hair and vivid, blue-green eyes. She's only seen Frannie in photographs up to this point, and they really don't do her justice. Obviously, Quinn's beauty is unmatched by anyone in Rachel's opinion, but in all honesty, Frannie comes pretty damn close. Rachel will, of course, never admit this out loud to her girlfriend.

She knows that Quinn and Frannie have always had a difficult relationship, more so than the normal teasing of an older sibling giving the younger a hard time. Quinn had to grow up in her sister's shadow, but from what Rachel understands, it went beyond Frannie merely being the first and favorite in their parents' eyes. Frannie had apparently sided with their father in everything, including blaming Quinn for getting pregnant at sixteen and ruining their family name, along with their parents' marriage. It hadn't been until Quinn's accident six years ago—Rachel shudders to even think about it—that Frannie finally attempted to reach out to her sister again. Understandably, Quinn wasn't thrilled to be the final destination on Frannie's guilt trip, and they still don't have a particularly good relationship, but according to Quinn, they'd both agreed to grin and bear it for their mother's sake. As tattered as their sisterly bond may be, Quinn has at least gotten the chance to know her nephew, who's five and a half now. Rachel, on the other hand, hasn't had the privilege of meeting either of them in person until today, and if the look on her girlfriend's face is any indication, Quinn would have preferred to delay the meeting even longer.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asks coolly.

"It's nice to see you too, little sister," Frannie responds with a singular, tawny eyebrow arched. Rachel decides that particular trait must be inherent to all the Fabray women.

Quinn's jaw clenches, and she puffs out a frustrated breath, but she doesn't reply, undoubtedly due to her nephew still tugging at the hem of her skirt in an attempt to steal back her attention with an insistent, "Aunt Luce…you wanna watch _Lion King_?"

Quinn manages to smile down at the boy, who's completely oblivious to the tension between his aunt and his mother.

"Timothy Jude," Frannie chastises, stepping over to urge the boy away from Quinn's legs. "I already told you that the movie will have to wait until after dinner. Appealing to your aunt won't change my answer."

T.J. sighs dramatically before he mumbles a dejected, "Yes, Mama."

"Oh, Frannie, dear," Judy interjects, gesturing in Rachel's direction. "This is Rachel Berry," she introduces. "Quinn's…_friend_," she says after a noticeable hesitation.

"_Girlfriend_," Quinn immediately corrects, taking Rachel's hand as she inches closer to her side.

Frannie shakes her head, frowning. "Is it really necessary to clarify that, Lucy?"

"Is it really necessary for you to keep calling me Lucy?" Quinn counters petulantly. It seems that Frannie is the only person who stubbornly refuses to use Quinn's preferred name, clinging to the one that she'd used while they were growing up and passing the habit along to her son.

"Please girls. We have company," Judy scolds with a disapproving frown. "Try to act like the adults you are."

"Sorry, Mother," Frannie apologizes tightly.

"Yeah, sorry," Quinn echoes grudgingly.

The room falls into awkward silence, and even T.J. doesn't make a sound as he bounces impatiently at his mother's feet, darting his eyes back and forth between the four women towering over him. Finally, Rachel can't take it anymore and plasters on a practiced smile as she extends a hand to Frannie. "It's very nice to meet you, Frannie. I've…heard so much about you," she adds with decorum.

Frannie's lips twitch slightly, and her eyebrow lifts again. "I'm sure you have," she drawls, shifting her suspicious gaze over to Quinn. She barely touches Rachel in the briefest, weakest handshake known to man before letting go and curling her cool fingers into her palm. "And it's Francine."

"Oh, of course," Rachel mutters with a frown, dropping her arm limply to her side. "Francine."

"You can call her Frannie," Quinn assures her defiantly. "Everyone except her husband does." She turns challenging eyes on her sister. "Where is good old Tim anyway?"

Frannie's already rigid posture grows even tauter. "He's stuck in Minneapolis, negotiating a buyout, if you must know," she answers haughtily. "So T.J. and I decided to visit Grandma this weekend, didn't we, honey?" she asks in a surprisingly soft voice as she glances down at her son. Her expression is gentler and almost relaxed, and Rachel wonders if she's only imagining how much stronger the resemblance between the sisters seems to be in this moment.

"You're pretty."

Rachel's attention instantly moves from mother to son at the unexpected compliment. He's gazing up at her with wide, green eyes and a shy grin, and she finds herself grinning back at him even as Frannie sighs in exasperation. "T.J., that isn't an answer to the question that I asked you," she reprimands lightly, making his smile fall away.

"Oh, hush, Frannie. He's fine," Judy soothes, smiling lovingly down at her grandson.

Quinn bends down enough to catch T.J.'s eyes, whispering not-so-secretively. "She _is_ pretty, isn't she?"

His smile is back again, brighter than before, and he nods his head vigorously. "Uh huh."

Judy and Quinn both share a laugh, and even Frannie manages a thin smile.

"Why, thank you, T.J. You're very handsome, too," Rachel tells him sweetly, delighted when he blushes to the tips of his elfin ears—maybe that's a Fabray family trait as well.

Frannie's faint smile is still in place as she places a hand over T.J.'s shoulder. "Let's go get you into your shoes, honey, so Aunt Lucy can take us out for dinner." T.J. nods mutely, still grinning at Rachel, even as he allows his mother to lead him out of the room.

For a moment, Rachel thinks that they've navigated through the worst part of the evening, but one look at Quinn's face tells her otherwise. As soon as Frannie and T.J. are safely out of earshot, she turns to her mother with a scowl. "You could have warned me," she accuses low tones.

"They only arrived today," Judy defends.

"You should have called and not let me show up here to be blindsided."

"Quinn," Rachel attempts, placing a hand on her girlfriend's arm that goes ignored.

"I didn't want you to have the chance to invent some excuse to avoid her," Judy admits brazenly. "She is your sister, Quinnie. And you haven't been home for any holidays since," she cuts herself off, glancing at Rachel meaningfully. "Well, it's been awhile."

Rachel does feel the tiniest bit guilty at that. While she'd been used to spending her own holidays with Kurt and whatever orphaned friends they could scrounge up in the city or tagging along on one of her fathers' excursions when her schedule had permitted, Quinn had always made an effort to visit her mother, and by extension her sister, on the major holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter—until the last year. Rachel hadn't even questioned Quinn staying in the city with her, too caught up in her own excitement for them to celebrate everything in private.

"Did you give Frannie this speech too?" Quinn asks peevishly.

Judy crosses her arms. "Yes, I did. And she promised to be on her best behavior. I want a nice evening with _both_ of my daughters and my grandson. And Rachel too, of course," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

Rachel can see that Quinn is still very much on the defensive about everything, and she knows from experience how quickly disagreements can escalate when Quinn gets in this mood. To be honest, she's having a little trouble tempering her own protective instincts, just like she does every time Judy and Quinn are at odds, because no matter how far they've come in their relationship, Rachel can never quite forget that Judy had once allowed her pregnant, sixteen year-old daughter to be tossed out on the street. She won't be the one to make things worse for Quinn, though—she'd already done that once with Shelby when she'd let her emotions get the best of her—so instead she attempts to smooth things over as much as possible.

"Quinn and I will be happy to cancel our reservations and go wherever you'd like, Judy."

Quinn's mother offers her a genuine smile then, and gratitude shines clearly in her eyes. "Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate that you both wanted to treat me to a nice dinner, but I think T.J. will be happier somewhere less fancy."

Rachel can certainly understand that—she'd been a picky eater as a child even before she'd stumbled over that first video displaying the mistreatment and slaughter of innocent animals for food. Quinn, on the hand, rolls her eyes and scoffs. "I'm surprised Frannie and Tim haven't introduced him to lobster and caviar yet."

"Parents make sacrifices for their children, Quinnie. Someday," Judy begins to say unthinkingly before her eyes widen, and she falls silent.

Rachel can feel Quinn grow incredibly tense beside her, and she immediately reaches down to take Quinn's hand in a show of silent support.

"Someday?" Quinn bites out. "Go ahead and finish that thought, Mom," she challenges with a tremor in her voice. "Because I can't possibly know what it's like to sacrifice for my child, right?"

"I'm so sorry," Judy whispers. "I…I wasn't thinking." Quinn inhales deeply, gripping Rachel's hand as if she's attempting to ground herself. Her jaw is firmly set and her lips pursed into a thin line, and Rachel has to bite into the side of her tongue to keep from snapping at Judy. How could she forget for even one minute that she has another grandchild out there? Even though Quinn doesn't get to be Beth's _mom_, she's still a mother, and this weekend still means something special to her because of that—even if it is incredibly bittersweet.

"How is Beth?" Judy asks after a moment, attempting to backtrack over her faux pas. "Have you seen her recently?"

Some of the tension seems to drain out of Quinn at the mention of her daughter's name, and she loosens her grip on Rachel's hand. "Just last week, actually," she answers with a faint smile forming on her lips—she can't really help herself when she talks about Beth. "She's at the top of her class at school," she proudly tells her mother, "but she hates being stuck in a classroom, and she's so ready for the summer."

Judy nods, smiling wistfully. "That sounds familiar."

Quinn's rigid posture relaxes just a little bit more. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"Will you be able to see her on the twenty-seventh?"

"You remember?" Quinn murmurs in amazement.

Judy's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches—Rachel _knows_ it has to be genetic—and a look of mild affront crosses her features. "Of course I do, Quinn." After all, Judy had been there in the delivery room with Quinn. It was the first thing that she'd done right for her daughter in years and the first step taken on the rocky, crooked, always-under-construction road to rebuilding their relationship.

Quinn sighs and crosses her arms. "Shelby is having a birthday party for her with some of her friends from school. She thought it would be best if we weren't there for that," she mutters with a tang of bitterness flavoring the words.

Shelby is in a class all her own when it comes to mother-daughter relationships. As good as she is to Beth, she's never going to win any awards from Rachel, especially after she'd made Quinn re-jump through hoops that she'd already been made to jump through just because she'd decided to date Rachel and tangle up a few limbs of Beth's already twisted family tree. Shelby is finally beginning to understand that Rachel is one hundred percent committed to being with Quinn for the long haul, which means that she's also going to be in Beth's life for as long as Quinn is. Shelby isn't in a place where she's inviting them to birthday parties yet—

"But she did agree to let us take Beth to see the Broadway matinee of _Frozen _completely unsupervised," Rachel informs Judy with a little pride of her own. She'd been the one to suggest the gift, after all, fully expecting that Shelby would insist on accompanying them, but for some strange reason, she'd been perfectly willing to forgo the experience.

"I'm glad you're able to still be in her life," Judy says sincerely.

Whatever response Quinn intends for her mother is interrupted by the reappearance of Frannie and T.J., who's now wearing a pair of neon green tennis shoes with flashing lights that only a child can pull off convincingly. "We're all ready to go," Frannie announces.

"Great," Quinn bites out with a fake smile.

Frannie returns an equally fake smile. "If you'll just move your car out of the driveway so I can pull the Escalade out of the garage."

Quinn's smile disappears. "There's more than enough room in our car for all of us."

"No offense, Lucy, but I'd rather be the one driving with my son in the car. You don't exactly have a spotless record."

Quinn flinches at the dig, and Judy growls, "Really, Francine!"

Frannie merely shrugs unabashedly, grabs her son's hand, and turns to leave with a, "Let's go, Mother," called back over her shoulder.

Rachel is stunned, glaring after the woman with a deep frown and rubbing absent circles over her tight chest. Judy takes a deep breath, shakes her head, and sends a pleading look in Quinn's direction. "I'll ask her to wait. You can both ride with us. Just pull the front door closed behind you to lock it."

"Whatever," Quinn mutters, shaking her head and turning away as Judy grabs her purse to follow Frannie.

"Did she really just say that?" Rachel hisses when she finds her voice again.

The muscles jump in Quinn's jaw, and she huffs out a single, bitter laugh. "And that's her being polite."

"What a bitch!" Rachel snaps, ready to punch Quinn's sister in her perfect nose.

Quinn sighs in resignation. "Well, my younger self did learn from the very best example."

"You were never that bad," Rachel argues reflexively. Quinn gives her a pointed look, and Rachel has to concede, "Okay, you were for a little while, but at least you left that persona behind in high school."

"Lucy," Frannie shouts from somewhere in the house—presumably the vicinity of the garage entrance. "Are you planning to cooperate in this lifetime?"

Quinn scowls and flips off the disembodied voice regardless of the fact that her sister probably can't see her. "I should have listened to you and gotten us off the plane when we had the chance."

Rachel silently agrees, but they're here now, so they'll just have to make the best of it. "It's just for the weekend," she reasons, taking both of Quinn's hands in her own. "I'm sure we can make it through without one of us being arrested for murder."

Quinn chuckles, shaking her head before she steals a much needed kiss from Rachel. "Thank God we're staying with your dads."

Rachel nods her agreement, pulling Quinn closer and urging her lips back down—until the blaring of an Escalade horn causes them to jump apart. "I really don't like your sister very much," she mumbles, reluctantly letting go of Quinn.

When they walk outside, the garage door is open and the engine of the Escalade is revving. Rachel wonders if Frannie is contemplating trying to drive over the Nissan. She stands on the driveway, waiting while Quinn backs the car out onto the street and parks it against the curb. Frannie rolls her gas-guzzling monstrosity out of the garage, jerking it to a stop beside Rachel and beeping the horn twice—as if that will make Quinn move faster. Rachel can tell that her girlfriend is purposely taking her time as she gets out of the car, locks the door, and meticulously double-checks it with a tug before she strolls over to the Escalade. She opens the back door and holds out a hand to help Rachel get in, which Rachel gratefully accepts. T.J. is buckled into a booster seat on the passenger side, distracted by whatever hand-held video game he's playing with, which means that Rachel has to slide into the middle of the bench-seat while Quinn crawls in beside her.

Frannie doesn't waste another second after the door is closed before pulling out of the driveway. Rachel half expects to her to literally burn rubber, complete with squealing tires, but to her credit, she's nearly as cautious a driver as Quinn. She glances over at her girlfriend with a soft smile that Quinn returns before reaching down to entwine their fingers in the narrow space between their bodies. On her other side, T.J. taps her arm and shyly asks her if she likes _Toy Story._ When she tells him she does (although she hasn't seen any of the films in years), he proceeds to explain the game he's playing in disjointed detail. She listens with feigned enthusiasm because, frankly, she has no idea what he's talking about but focusing on Quinn's nephew offers her a welcome distraction from the strained small talk happening between the Fabray women.

It's not until after they've all been seated at the restaurant, perused their menus in near silence—T.J. is lucky enough to get crayons to doodle all over his—and placed their respective orders that things begin to get really awkward again. While Rachel chooses to order the Veggie Trio, Quinn opts for a steak. As soon as the waitress walks away, Frannie is making the comment that, "Some things never change."

Quinn's eyes narrow on her sister. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Frannie shrugs. "Just that you always did prefer your meat and potatoes to healthier foods. At least you finally learned to counter your eating habits with exercise."

Judy props an elbow on the table and drops her forehead into her hand, silently shaking her head. "Please don't start this again, girls," she begs quietly.

Rachel can see Quinn's hand curled into a white-knuckled fist beneath the table, and personally, she's had just about enough of Francine Fabray-McGregor's condescending attitude. "Quinn actually maintains a very healthy lifestyle," Rachel defends hotly. "And her body is_ amazing_."

She doesn't immediately understand the surprised, "Oh, my," that Judy whispers under her breath or the reason that Frannie looks as though she's just smelled something unpleasant—until Quinn snickers beside her. Rachel realizes that she's just enthusiastically complimented her _girlfriend's_ body (that she's intimately acquainted with) in front of her mother and sister.

"I didn't mean..." Rachel stammers, feeling her face heat. "I only meant that Quinn is incredibly fit."

Neither woman appears particularly impressed with the distinction. Quinn places a warm palm on Rachel's thigh, out of sight from everyone, and leans closer. "Rachel, sweetie, maybe you should stop before you dig that hole deeper."

Rachel bites her lip and nods, leaning back in her seat and endeavoring to get through the rest of the evening without embarrassing herself or Quinn—or pushing Frannie's face into her grilled salmon. It's a real struggle at times, as they're forced to sit through dinner listening to Frannie brag about her husband and his job, about the trip to Ireland that they're planning in the fall, the one they took to Hawaii last year, and the boat they're thinking of buying. Meanwhile, every mention of Quinn's career or her life with Rachel is quickly interrupted by her sister. Rachel can tell that Quinn is making an effort not to snap at Frannie again, probably because Judy looks so pleased that they're all managing to have a nice, civil dinner together. Normally, Rachel would be peeved that no one seems at all interested in her or her accomplishments, but considering her current out-of-work status, she's actually grateful to be out of the spotlight for awhile.

Frannie and Quinn engage in a very brief battle over the check that Quinn wins far too easily, and Judy finishes the last bite of her Tiramisu and drinks her iced tea. Rachel takes another sip of her Zinfandel, enjoying the brief silence while Frannie cleans up some of the mess that T.J. made with his chocolate sundae. Quinn catches Rachel's hand when she sets down her glass, easily entwining their fingers on the table top and smiling at her in silent gratitude. She strokes her thumb back and forth against Rachel's skin—until her mother breaks the spell.

"Quinn, honey. This…this isn't New York City," she reminds them, glancing around anxiously. "Perhaps you and Rachel should try to maintain a little bit of…propriety in public."

Quinn's smile disappears. "We're only holding hands."

"Don't be stupid, Lucy," Frannie snaps in low tones. "You're embarrassing Mother."

"I can speak for myself, thank you, Francine," Judy reprimands with a frown before turning back to Quinn. "I'm only concerned for you," she clarifies, reaching across the table and briefly placing her hand over their still joined ones. "Both," she stresses with a gentle pat. "People in Lima aren't as accepting as you're probably used to now."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Quinn drawls sarcastically, pulling their hands away from her mother's touch.

"Quinn, it's okay," Rachel says when she notices that the couple at the next table is staring at them and wearing a far too familiar expression of contempt. She slides her hand out of Quinn's grasp and drops it beneath the table. "Judy is unfortunately correct, as both of my dads can attest."

"How come you have more than one dad?" T.J. asks, choosing that moment to tune back into the adult conversation.

"She doesn't. She only has one," Frannie quickly corrects, glaring at Rachel with unconcealed displeasure. "_Everybody _only has one," she insists as she turns back to her son and begins to talk to him in a placating voice. "It's just that some people's parents don't properly value the sanctity of the family and things get confused. Like with your friend, Danny."

T.J. looks at Rachel again with curious eyes. "Do you get to spend summers in California too?"

Rachel has no idea what he means by that, but she can guess that his friend is probably splitting time between divorced parents. She bites back her strongly worded objection to everything that Frannie just said. She'd let it fly without reservation if it weren't for the innocent child gazing back at her, completely unaware that his mother's view of family values is incredibly warped. "No. I'm afraid I don't," she tells T.J. with a thin smile.

"Wow, Frannie," Quinn breathes in mock amazement. "I'm impressed at how well you've mastered the ability to make anything you don't want to deal with just disappear into thin air. Russell would be proud."

"Quinn," Judy warns.

Frannie leans across the table and hisses, "At least he's proud of one us."

"Frannie!" Judy barks.

"The fact that you even think that's a good thing makes me sick," Quinn spits back with fire in her eyes.

A palm slams against the table, rattling the dishes and glasses and jerking everyone's attention to a seething Judy Fabray. "Both of you stop it this instant," she demands.

"You can't…"

"But she…"

"Quiet," Judy cuts them both off with a hard stare. "We're going," she announces, grabbing her purse and standing. "Now!" she commands before walking out of the restaurant without a backwards glance.

"Gram'ma's mad," T.J. points out unnecessarily.

Frannie purses her lips and gathers up her son's belongings, and Quinn tosses her napkin down on the table with a violent flick of her wrist before she stands. Rachel follows her without a word, leaving Frannie and T.J. several paces behind them. They're all met in the parking lot with the sight of a furious Judy pacing back and forth next to the Escalade.

"One night," she says sharply as soon as they're within earshot. "I asked you to be civil for one night. I'm incredibly disappointed in you both." There's a beat of silence where Rachel expects someone to apologize, but Quinn only stands silently with her arms crossed and her head bowed while Frannie glares back at Judy defiantly. Judy hums in displeasure and holds out her hand. "Give me your car keys, Francine."

"What? Why?"

"Because you had two glasses of wine with dinner, and I'm driving us home. Give me your keys," Judy demands again.

Frannie squares her shoulders and stares her mother down, arguing, "I'm perfectly sober."

Judy lifts a single eyebrow, looking down her nose at her eldest child. "No offense, Francine, but I'd rather be the one driving with my grandson in the car," she echoes Frannie's words from earlier.

Frannie sags in defeat and reaches into her purse, handing the keys to her mother who snatches them out of her hand.

"Rachel, you'll sit in the front with me," Judy instructs. "The _children_ can sit in the back seat." Both of her daughters moan at that, but Judy ignores them, bending down to her grandson with a tight smile. "Let's get you buckled in, T.J.," she urges, holding out her hand to him. She glances up at her daughters coolly. "You girls go around to the other side."

Frannie turns her scowl back on Quinn. "This is your fault," she accuses, pointing a finger in Quinn's face before stomping around to the driver's side. Quinn glances at Rachel and shrugs, opening the passenger door for her and holding out a hand to help her inside before she joins her pissed off, pouting sister in the back seat.

They make the drive back to the Fabray house in complete silence, and the moment the Escalade is parked in the garage, Frannie storms out of the car, unstraps T.J. from his booster seat, and carries him into the house without a single word, slamming the door behind her.

Rachel slides out of the vehicle in time to hear Quinn tell her mother, "I'm sorry about what happened tonight."

Judy sighs tiredly. "I'm sorry too, Quinnie," she says, placing a motherly palm to Quinn's cheek before brushing back her hair. "I know your sister can be," she trails off, letting her arm fall back to her side. "Well, sometimes she's a little too much like your father. I suppose you'll refuse if I ask you to come inside for a bit."

Quinn shakes her head. "You know it won't go well if I do."

"Will you at least come and see me tomorrow before you leave?" Judy wants to know.

Quinn glances at Rachel with an unspoken question in her eyes, and Rachel nods. "Our flight home isn't until Monday morning," she tells her mother. "We were supposed to invite you to breakfast tomorrow with Rachel's dads."

Judy looks momentarily taken aback by the invitation, and she hesitates for a noticeable moment before she finally finds her voice. "Oh…that's…that would be...lovely. I'll stop by after church."

"I don't think Frannie will like that."

"She won't be coming with me," Judy promises. "I'm certain that she and T.J. can manage for a few hours tomorrow until I get home. They're not planning to drive back until Monday, so she'll have me for the rest of the day." Judy turns to Rachel with a polite smile. "Your fathers are still on Lakewood, aren't they?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel responds, reverting to the formality thanks in no small part to Judy's display of authority back at the restaurant.

"Will nine-thirty be an adequate time?"

"Of course," Rachel confirms with a sure nod. "Daddy is always up by six o'clock, and breakfast foods make up seventy-five percent of his limited cooking repertoire. Do you have a preference for anything in particular? He makes phenomenal blueberry waffles, both vegan and non-vegan versions."

Judy appears suitably interested in this information, and she admits, "I love blueberry waffles."

"Quinn may have mentioned that in passing," Rachel reveals with a sly smile, metaphorically patting herself on the back for finding at least one way to butter up Quinn's mother. Tonight might have been a disaster, but she's hoping they can still salvage something from this trip. "I'll let Daddy know what's on the menu."

"Thank you."

Rachel smiles in acknowledgment and watches Quinn briefly hug her mother. "Goodnight, Mom. I love you."

Judy's eyes close in quiet happiness as she embraces her daughter. "I love you too, Lucy Quinn."

When the women part, Quinn slips a hand inside Rachel's as they step through the still open garage door and out onto the driveway. Judy gives them a final wave and a, "Goodnight, girls," before the door begins to roll down.

Quinn turns to Rachel with a strange mix of regret, mortification, and concern shimmering in her hazel eyes. "Are you okay?"

"You're asking _me _that?" Rachel asks incredulously. "Quinn, your sister is…not a nice person."

Quinn laughs ruefully. "She's a bitch. I'm used to it, but you shouldn't have had to experience that. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. All things considered, it could have been worse," Rachel decides, shrugging one shoulder.

"Just how much _did_ you have to drink tonight?" Quinn questions jokingly.

Rachel grins at her. "I'm serious," she insists. "Your mother wasn't terrible. She really does seem to be trying, Quinn."

Quinn considers this for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on her low lip before she admits, "Yeah, I guess. If in trying, you mean that she didn't actually verbalize how much she wishes you were a man."

Rachel frowns at just how swiftly Quinn bursts her bubble, letting a little humph of annoyance slip out. "Well, that's just never going to happen."

"Good thing," Quinn murmurs, tugging her closer and slipping an arm around her waist right there in the middle of her mother's driveway, "because I don't know if you've realized yet, but I'm pretty gay."

Rachel chuckles, melting into Quinn's body. "I may have had an inclination," she confesses playfully, curling a palm around the nape of Quinn's neck and pulling her down for a kiss that's meant to be chaste but really isn't. "Take me home, Quinn," Rachel demands when their lips finally part. "We have a bedroom fantasy to revisit. Maybe I'll even try on one of those old skirts in my closet."

A tremor runs through Quinn's body, and she licks her lips. "You're driving," she announces huskily before reaching into her purse and dangling the car keys in front of Rachel.

"Why?" Rachel asks in confusion, though she does take the keys. Quinn had only had a single glass of wine, the same as Rachel, so that can't possibly be the reason.

"Because I'm too distracted now that you have me thinking about you wearing nothing but a plaid skirt," Quinn purrs before she plants a hard and fast kiss to Rachel's parted lips, and then she's strutting to the car with an exaggerated sway of her hips before Rachel really knows what hit her.

Is she supposed to be able to focus on driving after _that_? "Do you think Judy would mind giving us your Cheerio uniform tonight?" she rushes out hopefully as she scrambles after Quinn.

"Get in the car, Rach," Quinn instructs with a mischievous smirk as she opens her door.

"Yes, dear," Rachel gives in with a sigh. She supposes that particular part of the fantasy will have to wait a bit longer.

Rachel circles around the car and slides into the driver's seat, glancing over at her girlfriend to see her with her phone in her hands and her fingers flying over the screen. She quickly finishes whatever she's typing and looks over at Rachel with a sexy grin. "I texted Mom and asked her to bring it over tomorrow."

A slow smile forms on Rachel's lips as she imagines Quinn in that uniform again. "Rah rah, baby," she quietly cheers before she reaches across the console to tug Quinn into a heated kiss. This trip just took a definite turn for the better. Coming back to Lima might not have been the best idea, but as long as she's with Quinn, she knows she's right where she belongs.


End file.
